


Guardianship

by ebonyandunicorn



Category: Primeval
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebonyandunicorn/pseuds/ebonyandunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(ON HIATUS) </p><p>For an unknown time Danny Quinn has been chasing his murderous brother, Patrick, through the anomalies in an attempt to keep him from harming anyone else. When he fails in his quest and Patrick kills a man, Danny is suddenly thrown into an entirely new and terrifying situation; his brother has sworn to kill yet again, and this time his target is a woman whom Danny once knew well. His vow to protect her will push them both to their limits – and the fear, grief, and buried memories are only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The house was silent and still as death. 

But for the soft whispering of the anomaly through which Danny Quinn had just stepped, not a single sound could be heard. Patrick had perfected the art of swift stealth, and if Danny had not seen his brother charge through this same anomaly mere moments before, he would not have known that Patrick was somewhere in the house. It was night in whatever year they had stumbled into; the only light in the deserted room was cast by the shimmering anomaly. Looking around, Danny could make out the outline of a brown leather couch, a tall bookcase, an acoustic guitar on a stand. He held his breath, straining his ears. 

"Hey!" 

A man's voice, but not his brother's. Danny sprinted after the shout, one hand tight around the small, crudely carved stone knife that he had swapped for the lost Molly sometime in the Ordovician. It was hard to navigate at speed in the dark house; he sent a dining chair crashing to the ground and almost ran straight into a wall. There was a light shining under a door at the end of the hallway. Hearing the sound of voices, he charged towards it. 

Bursting into the room, Danny immediately took stock of everything he could see. They were in the kitchen; a man stood by the sink, a glass in one trembling hand. Closer to Danny was Patrick, holding a knife. Unlike Danny's, this was a proper weapon: sharp, unforgiving steel. 

"Patrick, don't!" Danny yelled. 

His brother had already begun to turn at the sound of the door crashing open, and the man at the sink saw his chance. Dropping the glass, he lunged for the knife rack at the far end of the kitchen bench. Patrick, though, followed Danny's gaze and saw what the man was trying to do. "No, you don't," he said simply. He moved faster than Danny would have thought possible; two steps forward and Patrick's knife had torn open the man's throat. 

There was a terrible gurgling sound as the man fell, blood gushing from the fatal wound in his neck. Patrick, expressionless, turned to face his brother. It was the closest Danny had come to him since the chase had begun all those months – or even years; he didn't know anymore – ago. "Well, well," Patrick murmured. "You came close this time, brother, but I guess you just weren't fast enough." 

Danny was breathing hard, his fingers a fist around the stone knife. "Patrick, this has to stop," he implored. "Whatever your reasons are for hating me, they can't justify the murder of innocents." 

"I don't need justification," Patrick shot back. "And I don't need you telling me what to do. You lost that right when you left me for dead with those monsters." 

"I didn't leave you." Danny's voice was shaking, tinged with the years-old sorrow. "Patrick, I mourned you every day since I thought you'd died. Why won't you believe me? What have I gotta do to make you stop this?" 

His brother was shaking his head, a mocking smile on his lips, blood dripping from the knife in his hand. "Nothing," he said. "There's nothing you can do." He took a slow step forward towards Danny. "It's over, brother," Patrick whispered. He took another step. "This is it." 

Danny had a knife carved out of stone and not a single thing more. He was exhausted, bruised, sick at heart, and appalled by the casual murder he had just witnessed. He had spent so long – so long he didn't know if it had been months or years – chasing his brother, and it had come to this. It was over. 

"Michael?" 

It was a woman's voice and – shockingly – one that Danny recognised. Before he could even react, she followed it up with a scream. 

Suddenly everything was moving in slow motion. Patrick, distracted by the sound, slid his gaze over Danny's shoulder to the woman in the doorway. Danny, who knew the voice and was spurred by it into action, drove his knee up into Patrick's groin and dived for the knife rack that the now-dead man had not been able to reach. With his brother doubled over in pain, Danny dropped his makeshift stone weapon and tore the longest knife from the rack. As Patrick began to straighten, his face contorted in fury, Danny shouted to the woman in the doorway, "Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" 

She spared a moment to stare at him – he never knew if, in that instant, she recognised him – before her eyes fell to the man lying dead on the floor. Her face, which had been openly distraught a second before, suddenly hardened into a cold, determined mask. Before Danny had even had time to turn back to his brother, she had fled. 

He wondered if he would ever see her again. 

"You bastard," Patrick spat. There was a murderous insanity in his eyes. "I spared you once. It's not going to happen again." 

He charged at Danny, the knife raised to kill. Danny, no longer unarmed, parried the blow and twisted away, almost stumbling over the body on the floor. He took the offensive, moving threateningly towards Patrick, making feinting, jabbing blows that forced him out the door of the kitchen and down the hallway. He needed to get Patrick back through the anomaly before he could hurt anyone else. Especially her. 

There was a door halfway down the hallway. Without warning, Patrick suddenly lunged for it and thrust it open. Danny heard the woman scream again. "No!" he roared, throwing himself forward and just managing to catch Patrick's collar before he could enter the room. He yanked his brother backwards, shoving him savagely into the opposite wall with a sudden, furious strength that sent Patrick's weapon flying from his hand. 

"Not her," Danny growled, planting himself between Patrick and the door with the knife raised. "Do not touch her." 

Patrick, his breath coming in heaves, slowly smiled. It was a manic smile – no mirth, all madness. "So she's important to you?" he murmured. 

"Get out," Danny hissed, his grip sweaty on the handle of the knife. "Before I hurt you." 

There was a moment of stillness, then Patrick raised his empty hands. "All right," he said. "You've got me this time." Never letting his gaze off his brother, he began to walk backwards down the hallway that was now dimly lit with the first hints of dawn. 

In a short time they had reached the room where the anomaly was. A part of Danny was wondering why Patrick had suddenly agreed to go so quietly, but the rest of him was too battered – both emotionally and physically – to not be grateful. "Go on," he said, when Patrick stopped in front of the anomaly. "And don't come back." 

Patrick stared at the shimmering portal for a long moment before glancing back over his shoulder at his brother. "Oh, I'll be back," he said, his voice soft as death. "I'll be back for her." 

Then he was gone. 

For a length of time Danny stood there, his gaze fixed, unblinking, on the anomaly. When it was clear that Patrick wasn't coming back right away, he exhaled a long breath of tiredness and grief, the knife slipping out of his hand and clattering onto the floor. He wiped his sweating brow with the back of a grimy hand and turned to slowly make his way back into the kitchen. On the way, he picked up Patrick's knife. 

She was waiting there, kneeling by the body of the man she had called Michael. There was enough blood on the floor to turn Danny's stomach, but she seemed oblivious to the way it had coated her legs and hands. She was cradling his head in her lap, swaying slowly forwards and backwards as the tears racked her body in silent, shaking sobs. He didn't have the first idea about how to help her. 

All he could say was, "Jenny, I'm so sorry." 

The woman he had once worked beside made no indication that she had heard him. A shaking hand was stroking the dead man's hair, leaving streaks of blood through the blond. He took a step towards her, feeling more helpless than he had ever felt in his life, but before he could do anything more, another sound split the dawn air. 

Somewhere in the house, a baby was crying.


	2. Chapter 2

Jenny had done nothing to indicate that she had even noticed Danny re-entering the room, but the cries of her child were, at last, enough to rouse her. Moving slowly, she gently laid Michael's head to rest on the floor and stood. Danny took a breath to speak, but something made him swallow his words. The way Jenny carried herself was almost regal – back straight, eyes forward, mouth firm. Danny was clever enough to recognise what it meant; it was the look of a woman who had sealed in her grief so tightly that one stray movement would cause her to shatter. 

She rinsed her hands and arms in the sink, but soap and water were no match for the lifeblood of a man, and her skin was still stained red when she left the kitchen. Danny knew that there was nothing he could do to help if he followed her, but the alternative was to remain alone in the kitchen with a dead man. He waited until he heard her opening the door to the baby's room before he slipped out of the kitchen as well, moving swiftly down the hallway until he reached the room where the anomaly was. 

Or had been. There was no sign of the shimmering portal through time; it had closed after Patrick, sealing him – at least for a short time – in the Devonian. Danny allowed himself the luxury of a relieved sigh. For now, at least, Jenny was safe. He believed his brother's words; as soon as Patrick could find an anomaly into the present, he would be back. Patrick had changed from when he was a boy, but Danny knew that he had held onto that one trait from his childhood: he kept his promises. 

Reassured that the house was safe for the moment, Danny was momentarily at a loss for what to do. Keeping Patrick away from Jenny had been his main concern, but now he had to somehow find a way to deal with her grief, with her husband's body, and with their child, whose cries were still audible. How did one man begin to explain that his brother was a time-travelling psychopath; comfort his latest victim, a newly-widowed woman; and convince her to take him on as protector of herself and her child? 

He phoned a friend. 

"Blue, it's Quinn here." 

"Danny Quinn!" The woman spoke with an American accent and an accusatory tone. "About damn time! I thought you'd forgotten all about me!" 

Danny couldn't help but smile. "I've missed ya, Blue," he replied honestly. "And it's been a while... longer than you know. But we'll have time to catch up later. Right now, I'm calling in that favour you owe me." 

"Oh, a _favour_? That's a bit rich, callin' me up after almost five years and demandin' a _favour_ –" 

"Blue. Wanda." She fell silent at the sound of her first name. "This is serious. A man's been killed." 

He could almost hear her brows snap together as she frowned. "Who? Where?" 

"Just outside of London. He's – he _was_ – the husband of my good friend." He gave the address, then held his breath as she jotted it down. "Listen, Wanda," he murmured, "we're good mates, right?" 

There was a short pause. "Quinn... what's going on?" 

"It's a bit hard to explain. But I need it to be you who comes and checks this out. If you have to, bring a partner, but make it someone we can trust. Maybe Fischer. I know who the killer was, but you'll think I'm crazy if I tell you without giving you the whole story." 

"If you think I'm comin' out to investigate a murder on nothing but that cryptic BS, then you _are_ crazy," DC Blue replied flatly. "Who's the killer, Quinn? Tell me before I have to take _you_ in." 

Danny took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "It was my brother. My little brother. Patrick Quinn." 

The silence on the other end of the line stretched on for an uncomfortable length of time. "Danny," Blue said slowly, "you told me that your brother disappeared years ago. When you were kids." 

"Well, he came back," Danny answered shortly. The baby's cries had stopped and he knew he needed to go and see to Jenny. "Look, I can explain everything. But I need you down here fast. The man's wife and child are here and they're... I don't know what to do." 

More silence. Then: "Fine," was Blue's reply. "I'll be there as soon as I can." 

"Thanks, Blue," Danny said. "I knew I could count on ya." He replaced the handset onto its cradle on the desk, then went in search of Jenny. 

He found her in the hallway, looking lost, like she'd left the room to fetch something and forgotten what it was. When she saw him, it took a few moments before her grieving brain could figure out who he was. "Danny." 

"Yes." He wanted to smile, but there was no joy to be had in the face of such sorrow. "Jenny, I'm..." 

"Who was he?" Her voice was a whisper, cracked, hoarse. 

"What?" he asked, caught off guard. 

"Who was that man?" She was cradling her child in her arms – a boy, if the blue blanket was anything to go by. He slumbered, oblivious to everything; his father's death, his mother's grief. 

Danny swallowed. "His name was Patrick," he began slowly. "He was once a good man, but life wasn't good to him, and he's... Now he kills. I've been following him, trying to catch him, to stop him. I just... wasn't quite fast enough." 

She nodded robotically. "How did he get in? I didn't hear the door..." 

"He didn't come through the door," Danny replied quietly. "There was an anomaly. Patrick's been travelling through time, and I've been following him. This is the first time we've been in the twenty-first century since... I don't know when." 

Another nod. There was no expression on her face; her mind had been shocked to its full capacity and now there was nothing that would surprise her. Once, he had admired her ability to stay calm even in the face of ridiculous circumstances, such as a _Giganotosaurus_ attacking an aeroplane. Now the complete lack of emotion on her face was almost too much to bear. He would have preferred her to cry. 

"I've called the police," he continued, when she didn't speak again. "My friend Wanda is coming – I knew her back when I was on the force. We'll take care of... this. Of you." 

His gaze fell to the sleeping boy; she noticed. "His name is Adrian," she whispered, touching the boy's finger where it peeked out of the blanket. "He was born in April." 

Seven months old. Danny found himself wondering if Patrick would kill the boy when he returned. He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak. "He's beautiful." 

"Yes." 

There was another silence, but he didn't break it this time; he couldn't think of a single thing to say. It was more than a minute later that Jenny murmured, "He sleeps through the night now, sometimes. He used to cry every night, wake us both up. Maybe if he'd – if I'd only been awake, if I'd been up instead of Michael, maybe I could have – I could have –" 

"Jenny. Jenny, stop." Her eyes were wide and staring, her breath coming faster, gasping and panicky. He reached out to touch her shoulder and she flinched violently before one of her hands shot up to clutch his with a sweaty, vice-like grip. For a moment he saw the tears gathering in her eyes, but before she could let herself cry, Adrian stirred in her arms. Immediately she dropped Danny's hand and turned her full attention on her son. 

"Shh, shh, Adrian," she soothed, gently rocking him side to side, one hand stroking his fine brown hair. "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."


	3. Chapter 3

It was not okay at all, of course. It was so far from okay that Danny could feel himself going to pieces as he watched Jenny stroking her son's hair. Over and over her pale hand caressed the fine brown fuzz, seeking with the repeated motion to re-establish some sort of normality in a world that had been turned so completely upside-down. And that was only how Danny was feeling. It wouldn't even come close to Jenny's emotions: Jenny who had become, in one moment, a murder witness, a single mother, and a widow. 

And Patrick was responsible. 

_Patrick._ Patrick Quinn. Ricky, his kid brother. Standing before Jenny in silence, the sorrow in the room pressing on his heart like a stone, Danny felt the decades-old grief for a lost brother settle onto his shoulders once more. All this time, he realised, he'd been hoping that his little brother could still be found somehow, redeemed. Now, though, he knew that his brother was lost for good. Patrick Quinn was gone, and he had left a murderer in his place. 

Adrian was restless; Jenny began to rock him gently, but he scrunched up his face and started to wail, bringing Danny back to the present. "Hungry," Jenny murmured, her voice barely audible above the boy's cries. Her hand went automatically to the thin strap of her nightie, slipping it easily off her shoulder as though she had completely forgotten Danny was in the room. 

She probably had. He quickly turned his back, realising incongruously that he still held Patrick's knife. The stone one he usually carried would still be in the kitchen where he'd dropped it; there was another on the floor of the anomaly room. "I'll be back," he told Jenny without turning around. He didn't wait for a reply. 

He went to the anomaly room first, reclaiming the knife he had torn from the rack in the kitchen. There was no blood on it, but what was on it would be worse: fingerprints. He took the phone from its cradle, too, though he knew even as he did so that it wouldn't be enough. He had been a copper, and he knew that every surface, every floor, every wall of the place would be swabbed thoroughly for evidence and they would find his fingerprints. This house was a crime scene and he would be a suspect. 

Right on cue, the doorbell rang. 

Danny heard the door to Jenny's room slam and almost smiled; she was a clever woman. Leaving the phone and one knife on the desk but keeping the bigger blade in his hand, he went by her room anyway, to reassure her. After a quick knock, he leaned in close to the wood and called softly, "Jenny, I'm almost sure it's a friend. But shove something in front of the door just in case." He waited until the sound of something heavy scraping along the floor had ceased, then went to open the front door. 

"This is the police!" the lady outside called sternly, holding up her ID. "Open up." 

Danny's face broke into a real grin. "Hey, Blue." 

"Quinn, you asshole." The woman stepped forward and punched him in the shoulder – affectionately, but not gently – before giving him a brief hug. "Where the hell have you been?" 

"It's a long story," Danny answered truthfully. "Someday I might even have the time to tell it to you." His gaze moved to the woman standing beside Blue. "And who's this?" 

"Fischer had a case," Blue said. "This is Mary Ann." She ducked her head, looking curiously shy. 

Danny's smiled brightened. "Of course! Nice to meet ya, Mary Ann. Heard a lot about you." 

"I could say the same about you, DC Quinn," the woman murmured, inclining her head. She was blonde and very tall, with icy blue eyes that made Danny slightly uncomfortable. "Or not DC anymore, I suppose." 

He nodded slowly. "Just Danny, now." 

"Well, Just Danny," Blue mocked gently, "you gonna let us in?" 

For the first time since he'd called Blue for help, Danny hesitated. He trusted these women with his life – well, Blue, at least, but she'd made the call to bring Mary Ann along and he trusted her judgement – but trusting them with Jenny's was another story. He had nowhere near enough time to explain everything from the beginning, so he spent another precious few seconds coming up with a brief summary. "Look," he began, "there's a story behind all this, but we don't have time. Her name's Jenny. She's an old friend of mine. Her husband Michael's just been killed. The murderer's name is Patrick Quinn, once missing, presumed dead, now back. He was – is – my younger brother." 

He paused to look at the women. Blue's eyebrows were furrowed furiously as she concentrated; Mary Ann's face was impassive. Danny took a breath and went on. "Patrick was missing for years, and over that time he became... unstable. Now he's a killer, and he's gonna be back for Jen. She has a son, Adrian. Seven months. I have to protect them." 

"How?" Blue asked. 

Another pause. He knew what the answer had to be, but it was one thing to think it and another to say it. "We're gonna have to run," he said. "As soon as the force gets in here, they're gonna find my prints and know I was here. That makes me a suspect and Jenny a witness. They'll lock me up until they can try me, and while I'm behind bars I won't be able to protect her." 

"We have witness protection," Mary Ann pointed out. "We could." 

Danny shook his head. "Not against Patrick, you couldn't. He has weapons we're powerless against. It's how he got in here in the first place – another reason why we've gotta leave. This house is vulnerable; he could get back in at any time." 

" _How?_ " Blue repeated, more insistently this time. 

He spared a moment to meet her gaze. "I wish I could tell you, Blue," he murmured. "Really, I do. But we don't have time. I can't go to jail, and Jenny can't be left alone. And I need your help." 

Mary Ann and Wanda looked at one another. Mary Ann tilted her head to the side, the question obvious in her eyes and the movement. Danny watched Blue hesitate for a long minute, then she bit her lip and nodded once. The moment she did so, Mary Ann turned back to Danny. "We'll help," she said, her gaze less unnerving than before. "But you should let us in. Anyone could be listening to us out here, and I want to see the girl."


End file.
